


Ritual

by tattedmariposa



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattedmariposa/pseuds/tattedmariposa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're mine," Soren insists, with a length of cloth in hand.  Ike wonders if Soren will ever believe it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> This was an inversion of sorts of [this prompt](http://ooh-shinies.livejournal.com/523.html?thread=664331#t664331) from the old FE kink meme.

A palm splayed possessively over a bare chest, nails lightly digging into waiting skin.

“You're mine tonight.”

Ike gave a hint of a smile, and reached up to push aside the stubbornly cascading bangs that cast such long, flickering shadows in the wavering candlelight. 

“I'm always yours.”

He watched Soren's face soften momentarily, before thin bony fingers began making quick work of the knot holding together a turquoise sash. 

Buried somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, almost intuitively, Ike knew he would never be able to say it enough for Soren's liking. Not that he would ever fault Soren for it – no, quite the opposite. He would say it every day, every night, and only hope that each time Soren would believe him a tiny bit more.

“You know--” the sash fell from Soren's waist and was pulled taut between his hands, “--what I mean.”

An understanding nod, and one last appreciative exploration of the cloth covering a slight body. Just as so many times past, Ike pressed wrists to one another and offered them to Soren, who readily accepted.

And a question, one last time – was he certain he was ready? Another nod, and then Soren was thorough, as he was with everything he did. One knot around each wrist, two to hold them together, three when bound to the headboard. A quick tug to ensure against accidental freeing, and that was it. Ike was confined to the privacy of his room, to the soft mattress, to pillows and cool sheets. To Soren's whims.

It was something of an indulgence for each of them. An opportunity for complete repose and pure dominance alike. Whom preferred which merely depended on the evening. But Ike could never quite shake the suspicion that for Soren, it was something even more.

Palm flat against chest again, this time partially for support. Soren leaned in close, bringing with him a faint waft of citrus scent, tips of black tresses teasing the sides of Ike's neck. Ike, now unable to do anything about Soren's wayward hair, squirmed slightly, anticipation coursing warmly though his nerves. 

“You're mine,” Soren repeated.

Ike wondered if he would ever manage to convince Soren of it completely. For now though, another simple indulgence would have to suffice. He said merely, “I'm yours, Soren.”

Seemingly pleased for the time being, Soren touched their mouths together. Carefully at first, but it never appeared to take very long for his control to become intoxicating. He kissed hard, harder, hard enough to make Ike gasp. He used his teeth against lips, ears, neck; nails against the soft flesh of his sides and underarms. And unable to do much else, Ike leaned into every tiny scrape as well as he could.

Soren pulled back for a moment to catch his breath and search Ike's eyes in a moment of silent wonder. Back straightened, belt undone, final sash untied and laid aside. Bony shoulders, pale chest, stomach, all revealed slowly, slowly, so slowly. The tip of a tongue unconsciously dampened swollen, bitten, slightly parted lips as Ike soundlessly savored each visible inch of Soren's untouchable skin - skinny arms, jutting hipbones, and red eyes that shone nearly orange in the weak golden glow of a dying flame.

A few shifts later and Soren's clothes were completely discarded. His knees dug a bit uncomfortably into Ike, where they rested on either side of his body, but Ike didn't dare to move – not only due to his vulnerable position, but because his eyes were locked on Soren's every deliberate action. A wandering hand snaked over a sharp collarbone, long clever fingers trailing slowly downward. Watching was nearly as torturous for Ike as being touched himself would have been. Soren's hand reached a slender thigh, and Ike wondered, for a fleeting moment, how much strength it would take to break his bonds.

With that thought in his head, Ike's own hands had moved a bit against Soren's sash without his direction, and it didn't go unnoticed.

“You want to touch me,” said Soren, going unfairly still, voice low and dark as the night outside the windows. But the sentiment behind his words was so transparent that they may as well have formed a question.

“Of course I do.” 

“Say it,” he demanded, quiet but firm, and Ike murmured back what was both the truth and what Soren wanted – needed – to hear.

“I want to touch you.”

Soren moved again, up the inside of his thigh, until he was the one drawing in a shaky breath. 

“Like this?”

“Yes,” Ike breathed, torn between resting his gaze upon half-lidded red eyes, or the movements of Soren's right hand, where he was building an unhurried but steady rhythm, “just like that.” He watched, awed into inaction and complete silence, as Soren's hips bucked forward a bit, all too aware that he was still partially dressed in rapidly tightening pants, that the only physical connection between the two of them was hardly more than practical.

“Will you do what I want?”

Ike swallowed hard, and questioned to himself, as always, how much of their exchange was indeed more than just a mutual game of titillation. 

“I would do anything for you, Soren.”

And then it was Soren's turn to gasp. Practically falling forward, he again crushed his lips to Ike's, overwhelming mouth and skin alike with frenetic coarseness, nipping at a lower lip, harshly sucking upon an earlobe, outlining the broad contour of a clavicle with his tongue. Ike encouraged Soren using the only means he could. Short, fractured noises. Subtle shifts of his body, to afford Soren the easiest access possible. A low whine in the back of his throat. And all the while, Soren shamelessly pushed down against Ike with every bit of his body, seeking delicious closeness, exhilarating friction.

Ike tried to do the same to Soren in turn, wrapping a leg around Soren's thighs in an attempt to pull him close, closer, as close as possible. But sharp crescent nails and fingertips barely more than bone pressed into Ike's upper arm with a strength belied by their appearance, hard enough to make him wince. 

“Stop,” Soren warned, “or else I stop too.” 

“Soren...”

“You said you would do what I want.” A thrilling imitation of danger tinged the tone of Soren's voice. His fingers tightened a bit more, and though he would be hard-pressed to admit it, Ike could feel his own pulse racing. “And I want you to behave yourself.”

He murmured his assent, his admission of Soren's control, while those same swift fingers started reaching between their bodies, furiously prying at the laces of Ike's all-too-restrictive pants. Soren lay rough, sloppy kisses to the side of his neck while Ike did his best to kick away the last of his clothing, and within a few moments nothing separated the two of them. 

But Soren chose to sit up again, straddling Ike's abdomen with his lower legs bordering either side, their skin slightly sticky and feeling nearly aflame where it touched. He leaned slightly forward to bring a hand to the side of Ike's face; absurdly gentle, given the state they were in. Fingertips brushed Ike's lightly abused lips, coaxing them apart, wordlessly giving themselves permission to enter. This time, Ike didn't need to be told what to do. Inside of his mouth, his tongue swirled around Soren's fingers, tracing the line where they met, faster and harder by the second until Soren withdrew them with a harsh intake of air.

“Oh, Ike...” The words slipped from Soren's mouth so easily as a hand disappeared behind his back. Ike couldn't see exactly what was happening, but he didn't mind. It was almost better that way – instead feeling, imagining. Watching Soren's half-lidded eyes, watching him bite down hard on his lower lip as he tried not to let the little sounds he couldn't seem to help making escape. Listening to skin brush against blankets, and his quick but heavy breaths.

“Tell me, ah--” eyes fluttering, control briefly lost to motion-- “Tell me you want me.”

Ike repeated Soren's words again, indulging him once more. He was nearly past the point of forgetting just why Soren was making him say them – lost in the sight of Soren before him, and the act of simply speaking such things at all – nearly. 

“How badly?”

And just like that, another little stab of regret, at the very idea that Soren would have to ask at all. He thought of what he might say to Soren to reassure him, to stop him from ever having to wonder again. The words all twisted together, fell apart, went unspoken. 

“You'll answer me, Ike.”

“So badly, Soren, _please_ \--”

Cut off with one last raw, unrelenting kiss, and Soren turned his head to spit into his hand, reached to prepare Ike for what was about to happen, for what they had inevitably been working toward the entire time. He was so nonchalant, so wanton. To Ike, so amazing to watch. Soren, his Soren, always closed off and wrapped in secrets, disclosing himself in every way with such a physical, fervent abandon, and knowing without question he would never dream of doing the same for anyone else. And perhaps it was the tiniest bit selfish, as well, to be glad of it, to be relieved. To revel in it. But just as with the dull ache in his arms or the sting of the shallow scratches upon his ribs, Ike couldn't bring himself to care.

And the more Soren moved, the more he revealed, the less anything else mattered at all. Soren shifted upward, and Ike's bloodless hands floated away; Soren's fingers played upon dimpled muscle, and his petty wounds disappeared. Soren raised himself quickly, lowered himself slowly, forced their flesh together in the most exquisite way either could dream of. 

It was both agonizing and wonderful, the languid slowness with which Soren moved at first. Ike begged Soren to move faster, as he knew Soren wanted, calling Soren's name as he knew he was supposed to, with head thrown back against the pillows, hips unfairly pinned to the mattress, with broken little cries of _Soren, Soren, please_. He could do little more, other than watching Soren in rapt attention (his flashing eyes, his flushed cheeks, his now-wild hair), and wondering how long they would be able to hold out.

But even Soren couldn't maintain his tenuous composure forever. His rhythm became sloppy, his pace desperate, one-sided silence shattered by cries of his own. He clawed wherever he could reach, harsh enough to leave Ike flinching, even through their shared blinding pleasure. Soren managed one last sharp bite upon the side of Ike's neck, one last scratch careless enough to draw blood before collapsing – breathless, limbless, mindless.

Dark hair spilling all over and the smell of sweat tickling his nose, Ike allowed Soren a while to come back to himself before reminding him of his bound wrists. He was met with a sleepy, blank stare for a split second until Soren's face lit up in realization. While Soren immediately set about undoing his earlier knots, Ike drank in Soren's disheveled appearance, his cracked lips and his smooth hair tangled, and wondered, not for the first time, why the very sight of it all made him feel so content. He sighed in relief and flexed his throbbing wrists, his stiff fingers for but a moment before at long last running his hands over the sharp, familiar yet ever-new planes of Soren's body.

He felt Soren shift a little after settling down again, felt a slender finger drawing a line over a fresh scratch. It stung, but Ike smiled to himself, in memory of just how it got there. 

“Ike?”

Soren's voice was small, even a bit hesitant – gone was that dark roughness from not so long ago. But Ike knew all too well that this was every bit his Soren too.

“Yeah?”

“You don't mind, do you?”

“Of course not.”

A moment's hesitation, before the same question as always. “But why?”

It was the same every time. The same words, the same guilty glances, the same look in the same eyes that wouldn't quite gaze upward. And like every other time, Ike took his hand to Soren's chin and gently tilted his head.

“I told you already. Because I'm yours.”

Soren added nothing else, but as before, his features softened almost imperceptibly before he yet again took his rightful place, head resting upon Ike's chest. Ike enfolded him in weary arms, encouraging both of them to drift together into warmth, comfort, sleep until nothing else – not the words, not the scratches, nothing – mattered.

And that would suffice.


End file.
